


(It's) Bad Luck (to not kiss under the mistletoe)

by thelostrocketeer



Category: Captain America (Comics), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Christmas!fic, Crack, Eggnog, Fluff, M/M, Mistletoe, Superhusbands, basically all in one, dubstep - Freeform, lol, skrillex lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 22:22:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelostrocketeer/pseuds/thelostrocketeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas time at  S.H.I.E.L.D is a jolly affair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(It's) Bad Luck (to not kiss under the mistletoe)

**Author's Note:**

> For Mikael.

Christmas at S.H.I.E.L.D is a jolly affair, Maria makes sure of that.

She snaps her fingers at interns and points on the general direction of the storage cupboards, says decorations and in the next half hour the whole building is decked out in glittering tinsel and shiny baubles and ridiculous amounts of fake snow. Christmas carols tinkle merrily away in the overhead speakers, twinkling in the background as red alerts sound off and Fury yells at people to get in his damned office right now or else. All the computers get Christmas themed desktop wallpapers that somehow no one can change. Tiny Christmas trees line the hallways.

Maria stands in the main lobby and inhales in the smell of artificial gingerbread and mistletoe wafting out of the air vents and smiles.

Christmas is her favourite time of year, definitely.

 

X

 

The Avengers are called upon once again, this time to deal with a swarm of mutant flying jellyfish, another one of Loki's idea of a joke. The jelly fish are jellified and disposed off, Thor sends and message to Asgard to tell the guards of Loki's prison to check the anti-magic spells, and all is right in the world again.

Another day in the office. (Or rather outside it, on the field.)

"Okay, before I projectile vomit all over Thor's pop tarts, please, tell me what the hell is going on," declares Tony as he strides into the office like he owns the place.

Steve looks around and smiles, "It's lovely, ma'am," he smiles.

"It's Christmas, Tony," says Maria from behind her desk. "Thank you, Captain. And I'm pretty sure that vomiting on the Prince of Asgard's pop tarts is a criminal offence."

"I know that, but why is it all over my face?" Tony demands, picking at the gaudy red tinsel lining her desk. "And Thor loves me, by the way," he mutters.

"Indeed, I do, dear Man of Iron!" booms the said Prince of Asgard from outside the office. "Though I think unsoiled Tarts of Pop will taste much more satisfying than soiled ones," he says, striding in the way only royalty can pull off.

"Lady Black, may I have Tarts of Pop when we return to the Sky Tower of the Man of Iron?" he asks, turning to Natasha, who nods and returns to watching the tiny dancing reindeers on the screensaver of Maria's desktop computer with deadly concentration.

Clint pokes his head into the office and asks, "Hey, are we done with the debriefing? James from IT makes the best eggnog and I have dibs on the first batch."

"No we are not, come inside right now or I will give you a pay cut," says Fury, his coat flying out behind him majestically as he glides into the now over-crowded office, his one eye swooping over Clint's frown of eggnog-less disappointment.

Tony looks up from his disassembly of a miniature robotic Santa Claus that used to sing Christmas songs and says, "Eggnog? Jesus Christ."

"Hey, I like eggnog," says Steve, eyebrows furrowing into a little crease that makes Tony want to iron out with an actual iron.

Bruce clears his throat from where he stands, unnoticed in the corner of the room and reminds them all of the reason they are enduring the cramped office in the first place. "Debrief? I'd like to get this over with before my claustrophobia kicks in, guys," he says in the calmest voice he can manage.

And of course, any mention of The Other Guy snaps everyone back to attention and the next two hours are spent with Dury telling off Tony for blowing up a Starbucks with his mistimed rocket.

 

X

 

"By the way, remember that the office Christmas party is on Friday," says Maria as the superheroes vacate their seats and (finally) begin to leave. "That means you, Tony," she adds as he makes a face that spells out his distaste.

"I don't get it, what is it about Christmas that makes everything seem a million times more depressing?" he asks Clint as he brushes fake snow off his trouser legs.

"I do not find it saddening, Man of Iron!" booms Thor. "This Midgard tradition of singing songs commemorating the birth of a chosen child and putting sparkling ornaments on walls is merry! I do verily enjoy it!" he declares, happily crunching a candy cane that Natasha nicked for him from a bowl on Maria's desk.

"Oh yeah? Sure the commercialisation of a sacred birth is awesome," says Tony flatly.

"Then what about the family and the feeling of happiness? What about togetherness and joy?" says Steve, raising his eyebrow and crossing his arms.

"Boring, boring, boring, boring, and don't get me started on family. Jesus Christ, you try spending an hour with my parents over turkey and goddammed cranberry sauce," snaps Tony.

"I'd give anything to have dinner with my family again," says Steve quietly.

Natasha glares at him, Thor drops Mjolnir and Bruce seems to turn a pale shade of olive. Even Clint looks slightly concerned.  

Tony balks, shit, him and his stupid mouth.

“Shit, hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way,” he tries. “Look, hey I’m really sorry… I wasn’t thinking. Why don’t we all just go catch some Z’s, ‘cause we’re all exhausted, and we deserve a day off for defeating a swarm of evil jellyfish, right? Guys?”

And of course the silence is infused with the twinkling of a sad Christmas song and of course you could cut it with a knife and of course Steve has a face like a basset hound and of course he brushes it off and of course he forgives Tony with a pat on the back as he squeezes past him because he’s a 40’s gentleman and of course Tony feels like an absolute piece of shit.

“I feel like an absolute piece of shit,” he says to Clint, who shrugs while the rest of the group walks out.

“I can get you some kick ass eggnog,” says Clint.

"I hate eggnog."

 

 X

 

Friday rolls along and S.H.I.E.L.D’s training theatre cum Multi-Purpose Hall is jumping with the sound of dubstep remixes of Christmas songs and Steve finds himself standing against the side of a wall with a bright red plastic cup clutched in one hand.

He watches as Natasha (somehow still sober despite the vodka shots she keeps throwing back) and Clint do some kind of complicated foxtrot to the sounds of Transformers making love.

“Ah, dear Captain!” booms Thor, strolling up to him with two already drunk young interns clutching his arms like they were stripper poles.

“This is Lady Lydia and Lady Carmela!” he booms, raising each arm in introduction. “Do you happen to know where I can deposit these two fair maidens? They appear to be rather intoxicated and the fair Lady Jane says to always respect a drunk woman!”

Steve nods, “Ladies,” he says politely as they giggle at him. “I think you can put them in one of the offices, Thor.”

“Ah, yes! An office! Excellent idea, good Captain!” booms the Thor. He strolls off again, the two interns giggling.

Steve sighs. As Clint flips Natasha in a move that can only be described as “swan-like”, he considers the empty gut feeling he picked up after defeating the killer jellyfish. He misses the only Christmas dinner he can remember with his father, it was quiet and simple and the only Christmas dinner he would trade a leg for to have again.

His right leg, probably. He’s always like the left one more.

He’s contemplating leaving when Tony runs up to him says “Hide me, quick!”

 

X

 

It turns out Tony has somehow managed to induce Fury’s wrath, something about a bad Christmas themed pirate joke.

“Do you choose to be an asshole twenty-four seven, or were you just born with a malfunctioning brain to mouth filter?” asks Steve when they’ve finally found a deserted hallway in which to hide from Nick Fury’s fury.

“Well, ah, to be quite honest, manners have never really worked for me,” says Tony in between breaths. “Good god am I out of shape.”

And he is, Steve notes smugly. They’d barely run six hundred metres and here Tony is, breathing like he’s run a marathon.

“You should come train with us, one day. You’d be surprised how much exercise one needs when they don’t have a magic suit,” he says, crossing his arms and grinning.

“Yeah, and get my ass kicked by Romanoff? No thank you, Steve,” says Tony from where he has collapsed onto the floor.

“You never call me that,” says Steve slowly.

“Call you what?” asks Tony.

“Steve.”

“Oh. Caught up in the moment I guess. Sorry?” says Tony, looking up at Steve.

“Hey, no. I like it. It’s a nice change from being called Captain all the time. You know, there was this one time when this kid actually called me Mr America,” says Steve smiling.

“No shit,” laughs Tony. “I get Mr Iron Man all the time now. I miss being a Stark.” he adds wistfully.

He closes his eyes and leans his head against the wall.

“Christmas was always over the top in my house,” he says to no one in particular.

“God, it was—It was like a winter wonderland infused with booze and scantily clad Santarinas, every year. And instead of having Christmas dinner my mother would make us dress up in our most uncomfortable clothes and have brunch. Can you imagine, brunch for Christmas?” he asks, laughing.

“That sounds like fun,” says Steve, wary now.

“Every year, I’d wish for a normal Christmas, the kind that the other kids would have. But no,” says Tony, drawing out the O’s. “We had an extravagantly horrible shit fest. Every. Year.”

“Well,” says Steve quietly. “At least-“

“Hey, Steve, what was it like at your place? Back in the… forties? Was it all, flapper Santa’s and turkey and pumpkin pie? Oh wait no, shit, that’s Thanksgiving.” Tony interrupts.

At this point, Steve wonders just how much Clint Barton’s Special Spiked Eggnog Tony has had to drink.  

“How much eggnog have you had, Stark?” he asks.

“I hate eggnog, you know that,” says Tony irritably. “Tell me about your ultra-retro Christmasses, Steven.”

Steve doesn’t really know what to do. Here’s Tony Stark, known Christmas hater asking him how he used to celebrate Christmas.

“Well. Uh. If you really must know, it was very… simple. We didn’t have turkey, some years. Mostly we just had turkey ham sandwiches with jam instead. We had to save money for me to study, mom and I” says Steve slowly. “I was studying illustration before I got injected with the super serum.”

Tony smiles slowly and says, “Yeah, I remember hearing that you could draw. You should draw me, some day.”

The suggestion makes Steve feel slightly weird, like someone poured hot tea down his throat and it got stuck at the top of his stomach.

“Yeah, some day,” he says, just to break the silence.

Tony checks his watch and Steve wonders why he still bothers when he has a computer programme for that.

“Well, I think Fury should have cooled down by now,” he says, sitting up. “Jesus, I am so unfit. A little help?” he says, looking expectantly at the World’s First Superhero.

Steve complies, reaches out and pulls Tony up, who freezes suddenly.

“What, what’s going on?” asks Steve.

Tony points at the ceiling above their heads and says, very slowly, “Mistletoe.”

Steve’s mouth makes a perfect “O” and he lets go of Tony’s hands and starts to back away.

“Hey, where are you going? It’s bad luck not to kiss under the mistletoe,” says Tony, his eyes glinting.

Steve stops.

 

X

 

Above their heads, the refrain of White Christmas tinkles in its sweet chimes, mingling with the sound of their hushed breathing and the leaking sounds of Skrillex’s interpretation of Christmas cheer from the party, but they don’t notice any of it.

When they do break apart, Tony grins, teeth white and shining in the dim corridor. Steve gapes, his cheeks warm from where Tony was touching them and from the blood rushing to his face.

“Merry Christmas, Steve,” Tony says.

He thinks that maybe Christmas time may be his favourite time of year, yet.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas :)
> 
> Completely unbeta'd there is no one to blame for this stupidity except me.


End file.
